Queen Butterfly
by Lady Proemess
Summary: Morgana - in the egg, caterpillar and butterfly stage. A triptych vignette exploring how court life molded her into an egg and ultimately, shape her butterfly form into the villain that we know her as today. No spoilers.


**Egg**

You give your hair a final brush. A princess needs to be beautiful. You are the King's Ward and very much a princess in the eyes of the commoners.

Straighten your shoulders. Feet, one in front of the other. Walk. _Glide_. Chin up. Don't look out the window. Look directly ahead. Stairs – it is better to be slow than to trip. A princess has to be graceful.

You nod at the guards and they open the door for you, and you step out and join Uther and Arthur on the stairs to greet a visiting king. Smile. Be polite and demure. That is the role of women here. Come on, chin up, a half smile. You cannot be too excited for this, but you must smile.

The parade begins. No, do not show your contempt for this. You are a princess – this parade is for your benefit. Don't fidget.

Don't make a joke about the horses' ridiculous headgear to Arthur. Keep it to yourself. Once, you might have been friends, but you know better now. He is an enemy of magic and thus your enemy. Keep your hands at your side.

And so the horses trot to a stop in front of you, each bearing a flaming torch. The flames eagerly lick the star-studded sky. A king gets off – a young one, only a couple of years older than Arthur and yourself.

'Crown Prince Jared?' Uther asks uncertainly. It has been years since the Edwins have visited.

The Prince nodded. 'Apologies, King Uther. My father cannot attend, he is tied up with business and absolutely cannot leave, but sends me in his stead.' Relax your fingers. Keep that smile plastered on your face. You are a girl – you are not supposed to know what this means.

But you do know what this means. The King of Mercia is on his deathbed. Prince Jared is smart – Uther wouldn't attack if he didn't know for certain that King Elderhert is dying. You have heard the rumours that in Mercia, magic does not flourish, but it isn't feared either. Officially, they do not tolerate magic. But their enforcement of this policy is a different matter.

You know this. Uther knows this.

'Allow me to introduce you to my son, Arthur. And to my ward, Morgana.'

Arthur clasped forearms with the prince and they did their hello's.

Smile widely now, with vapid eyes. Lock your eyes with his for a moment. Hold out you hand. Good. Now, look away, like you are shy. Note how his lips linger a tad too long on your fingers. Curtsey – not too low, remember, you are royal.

Uther leads the way in, and you follow. Arthur and Jared make conversation behind you – simple, inane chatter about the two kingdoms. You just keep your back straight and glide in with slow steps.

No doubt, this is the first time you've met Jared. Brown hair. Brown eyes set in a strangely child-like face. A grown man's body. You know that as a princess, you can easily persuade Jared to take a different stance on magic. You could use Mercia's resources to attack Camelot...

It is a nice dream, but you're never going to win if you play by their rules.

Come now, keep your shoulders back, chin up. You walk into a chamber where the feast is taking place. Don't sit down until everyone else has.

Uther sits down at the head of the table. Candles and food lavishly decorate it. Arthur sits to his right, Jared to his left. You sit next to Arthur – that is what etiquette demands.

'Prince Jared, I trust you've had a pleasant journey to Camelot? How do you find it?' Arthur asks cordially. Uther signals for a servant boy to pour them wine as Jared speaks.

'I like it very much,' he says. 'The place is scenic, the roads are well kept and the people are happy.'

'So Prince Jared,' you say, in your sweetest voice, but he is still slightly startled. 'Is this your first visit here?'

'No, it isn't,' he says, giving you a toothy smile. 'It is my second. The last time I was here, I was naught but a child.'

'How fast time flies,' Uther says, and they laugh. It echoes around the chamber. You do not think that Uther's statement was at all that witty, but you must force a smile.

The talk turns to trade between the two kingdoms. Nothing interesting, nothing of note. Your role here is to be stupid to boost their egos. So take a sip of wine. Smile. Shoulders back. You don't need to understand. They don't want you to understand. Laugh. Don't eat more than three bites – it is not feminine to have a large appetite. Simper. Don't take another sip just yet – you are not an alcoholic, you are a princess. You can't be both. Nod your head politely and agree. Laugh. Don't yawn; that's rude.

Finally, it ends. You stand up. The others are also standing, and saying their dismissals. You can't be bothered listening to that. You don't have to; nobody expects it of you. You're just a girl, remember?

'Gentlemen,' you nod, and leave.

Don't nod at the sentry guards this time, ignore them. Keep walking slowly. Don't fling yourself into your chambers.

You shut the door behind you and slump on the table. Too late, you realise you are not alone. When you lift your head up to see Gwen's concerned face, a wave of relief crashes over you. Your façade here isn't broken yet. Gwen thinks she's your friend – though you don't have any friends. Not anymore. Just a sister.

'I'm fine Gwen,' you say with a tired smile – crinkle your eyes, relax that forehead. 'Just tired.'

She nods sympathetically. Right now, you need to remember you are just a princess. But one day, this will change.

It has to.

* * *

**Caterpillar**

Plan after plan, they have all been foiled. But you expected that; this road you have chosen is no easy stroll. You have made too many sacrifices to stop; this hole you've dug is too deep and the only thing to do now is to keep digging.

So you'll endure living like a filthy peasant. You are stronger than that, you can do this. You _must_ do this. You would go through hell and back to get what you want.

Come on girl, you've got work to do. Spells need to be cast, potions need to be made and drunk and gold needs to be exchanged. Nobody is going to hand you your kingdom on a silver platter.

* * *

**Butterfly**

It's time. You advance through the gates of Camelot. Flames, lovely, chaotic and destructive flames gracefully fell the houses. Screams fill the air in a twisted harmony.

Finally, you can laugh if you want. You can scream, you can strike fear into anyone's heart, you can blow this castle into a million pieces. You can do anything!

The sweet nectar of success running through your blood is making your fingertips tingle and your hair stand on end. This power tainted with freedom is terrible and it is beautiful and your heart sings with it.

How you loathe that castle. It's repressed everything from you, stealing years of your life. You used to be imprisoned here. But that's all going to change. Because this time, you'll be the one running this prison. Camelot is now bowing down to you.

A simple tilt of your chin sends the front door flying open, and in you stride.

You smile as your feet make a delicious sound on the floor and they take you to the throne room.

It's okay to show off, clicking your fingers so the door slams open with a satisfying bang against the wall.

It's time.

Alone, you take a step up to the throne and alone, you sit.

All hail the Queen of Camelot.

* * *

Acknowledgements - Thank you to xxxxSpesh I Amxxxx (replace spaces with full stops) for beta-reading and TheImpossiblePen for inspiring this story.

Also, reviews would be much appreciated - what do you think of this style? Does it work for you?


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